Over the next three days our group of initiates traveled through cloud forests and traversed the “pass of the eternal woman,” Warmihuanusca, at 13,800 feet (4,206 meters). After having crossed the mountainous pass, we soon arrived at one of our early destinations, the ruins of Runkurakay and the beginning of the Inka Royal Path.

The sun legends say that only the enlightened ones, the children of light, are able to pass this point and continue on to Machu Picchu. It was at this guard-post of Runkurakay that the luminous warriors would scan a traveler’s energy centers. Additionally, these spirit-guardians would observe how the travelers physically moved, if their words matched their actions, and the purity of their heart.

The people found worthy would be able to continue on to the Sun City, but at some point, they would have to endure the initiation of “death.” If not found worthy, seekers would still be able to continue to the Royal City, but unbeknownst to them, without the benefit of awakening to the hidden knowledge of the Children of the Sun. Of course, the worthy ones who were chosen might not survive the initiation. It was here that I began to get very sick.

“I’m burning up and it’s not from the climb,” I thought. “I don’t know if I can go on, but I have to.”

At that moment Don Agustin, master of the vision-vine, put his hand on my shoulder. Speaking in a broken form of my language, he said, “You do not look so good my friend. Let me help you, if you would like.”

I readily agreed as the curandero, from the jungles of the great river Amazon, led me to the sun temple’s circular ruins. Once in the ruins, he took me to the northernmost part of the temple and positioned me facing east. He prayed while preparing his pipe with mystical Amazonian herbs and sacred tobacco. I realized that he was going to conduct a jungle-pipe ceremony for me. He blew the sacred smoke on the various energy centers of my body, and within a short period of time, I felt much better and was able to continue on to Phuyupatamarca, the next sacred site. At 11,800 feet (3597 meters), it was appropriately named “the town above the clouds.”

As I walked, I marveled at the landscape. It was almost as if we were stranded on an alien planet whose surface was composed of clouds, not of solid earth. With a clear expanse of blue above us and white feathery clouds soaring below us, my soul and senses were in awe of our surroundings.

As beautiful as it was, I suddenly realized that I was feeling lousy again and my fever had returned. Even though I had been chewing coca leaves (a mild plant stimulant), they were not helping. Chewing the leaves was supposed to alleviate conditions such as fatigue, thirst, and most importantly, soroche or altitude sickness.

As time passed, each step became more of a burden. If I had not had my staff, I realized that I might not have been able to go on. The staff seemed to have a life of its own and provided an energizing effect on my fever-wrenched body. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally reached our campsite at Phuyupatamarca. I surrendered to whatever my destiny had in store for me.

I drifted in and out of consciousness as the healers of our group entered my tent to administer their various curative remedies. Nothing seemed to be working. Each came and left in a short period of time; none could stay long as the inside of the tent was as hot as a sauna and my fever was the cause. I felt on the doorstep of death.

Sometime during the evening, I was brought a small bowl of soup made by one of our Inka porters. It was supposed to be an old family recipe, a remedy for fever. I was very hopeful and thankful even though it tasted like ordinary carrot soup.

I fell into a bizarre, altered state as time wore on. I wondered what was in that soup, as otherworldly images came and went all serenaded by the distant echo of a drum. The others were participating in a fire ceremony in the ruins of the city. Sick as I was, the vibrations of the drum and the chanting seemed to be healing and comforting. Before long I fell asleep.

I awoke to the light of dawn, thankful and blessed by the fact that I felt so much better after standing on the doorstep of death. After what had seemed to be my last day and night on Earth. I had done it – I had survived the work of the West. The West is not only about death, but about our willingness to focus our life on something that we believe in. And I was willing. The next year my wife and I began our shamanic apprenticeship program and entered the early stages of our message of Divine Humanity.

I couldn’t remember any dreams except for a brief image of a dragon that I’d seen in the night sky at the Hummingbird temple. As I emerged from my tent, I marveled at the beauty of the misty morning and my incredible surroundings. While I breathed in the thin but invigorating mountain air, I realized how precious life is and how, on the other hand, death has such a grip on us as we struggle and deny the truth – that death is a part of living.

Intellectually, I knew that our souls are immortal, but still the prospect of dying that night was terrifying. To accept my physical death was not an alternative for me. I wanted to live and to be with my family again. Agustin was standing nearby. When he saw me, he came over and laid his hand on my shoulder.

“You look so much better. May I perform the ceremony on you that I did on the others last night?”

“Of course,” I agreed. His gentle presence had such a healing effect. And when he was finished, he leaned over and lightly kissed my neck.

“You will be well and strong for the rest of the journey. Be open and you will see, and then you will know. The ancient ones are waiting for you. But first, my friend, let’s have some food.”